


Rekindling

by Elenothar



Series: The Road to Corus [1]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Culture Shock, Developing Friendships, Gen, Poor Numair, featuring: the art of getting along with Alanna the Lioness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numaír learnt a great deal on the slow way to Corus, chief among them that Alanna had a temper (that many of the songs conveniently forgot) and could be as prickly as any bur, especially in the mornings. Raoul on the other hand was so easy-going that he had you completely fooled until he started swinging around the enormous war hammer that he’d taken along as ‘insurance’.</p><p>A Numaír comes to Tortall fic. Set between <em>Lioness Rampant</em> and <em>Wild Magic</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rekindling

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to the lovely norcumi for giving this a helpful once-over.

*

 

Royal Palace  
Corus  
444 H.E

-

“I’m sending you to Tirragen, as my Champion,” the King announced, then held up his hand to forestall Alanna's immediate furious protest.

“Alanna, I love you dearly,” Jon said, a pained smile on his face, “but if I have to endure even one more day of your hovering I’m going to do something regrettable.”

“You were nearly assassinated!” she pointed out, colour flaring on her cheeks. “ _Twice_.”

“And I’ve got the most powerful mages and some of the best fighters of the kingdom watching over me here at court,” he said calmly, and, in her opinion, entirely too reasonably. “The yearly check on Tirragen is due and I really need someone I can trust to make sure the new lords aren’t up to anything. With all that's going on at the moment the last thing we need is another rebellion of the outer fiefs.” His voice softened a little. “Raoul is going with you. You know how much he dislikes being stuck at court.”

Alanna stared at him, violet eyes clashing with deep blue ones for long moments, then she snarled, “Fine! But if you get yourself killed in my absence I’ll come find you in the Black God’s domain and kill you again myself.”

Jonathan of Conté smiled wryly. “I’ll endeavour to avoid such a fate. Godspeed, Lioness.”

*

Tirragen Village  
Hill Country  
444 H.E

-

Alanna didn’t like travelling to, or even through, fief Tirragen even on a good day. It brought back memories she’d rather forget. Truth be told, the whole affair had already left her tired, and they’d only been at Tirragen castle for a day. Too restless to just go to bed early, Alanna decided a ride through the nearby village in the evening sun sounded like a much better idea.

The night still bore the fading summer’s warmth, and she’d worked up a light sweat by the time her horse entered the village. She’d expected everything to be quiet at this time of night, but there were noises coming from the small village square, where a player was entertaining farmers and their families alike.

Dismounting at the back of the small crowd drawn to the spectacle, Alanna made to wait for the end of the performance in a slightly less attention-grabbing manner. Most folk didn’t pay passing knights too much notice, but if anyone looked closely enough they’d realise she was a woman –  and thus, by a very simple process of elimination, the Lioness – and she wanted to avoid that kind of attention today.

Curious, she shifted to get a better look at the player, who was currently juggling five small, round balls rather expertly. She almost yelped when suddenly the jewel at her throat, given to her by the Great Mother Goddess, warmed and began to emit a noticeable light. Quickly grasping it in her left hand to dim its shine, Alanna looked around, but no one seemed to have noticed anything. Most of the attention was focused on the player, who’d now added a sixth ball to the mix. Reassured that she was unobserved for the moment, she frowned down at her hand. Usually the jewel only did anything when it was in her hand, and even then it only showed her when magic was being used and whose magic it was. It had rarely done anything so… independent before. Cautiously, she let go of the jewel and resumed her examination of the player. Clearly _something_ was going on here, and she intended to find out what.

The player lad – now having moved on to card-tricks – couldn’t be more than twenty, possibly younger, all bones and sharp edges. The light of hunger was in his eyes, but still he bore himself with a dignity that many in his position would abandon. It didn’t take a goddess to tell her that this was no common street magician.

The Goddess’ jewel was still glowing faintly at her throat, though she was certain the young man wasn’t using magic for his performance but true slight-of-hand tricks. Good ones too, if she was any judge, and she’d certainly hung about the Rogue’s court often enough in her youth to know. So why was the jewel acting like this?

Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, Alanna settled against the wall to wait. She’d never been the best at waiting, or overly fond of it, but she wasn’t going to approach the player while so many other people lingered about.

-

Act finished, the crowd dispersed. As a paltry few coins clinked into the worn hat at the player’s feet, Alanna pushed off the wall. A quiet murmur to Darkmoon made sure the horse would stay put and react with extreme prejudice towards anyone other than his mistress attempting to remove him from that spot.

The young man looked up from stowing the coins away in various pockets, suspicious dark-blue eyes flickering over her amour and sword then coming to rest on her face. Alanna had no compunctions at giving him a similar once-over. He was quite striking for his age, tall and black-haired with a sharp nose that reminded her of a hawk’s beak. Despite the frayed state of his clothing, clear intelligence glittered in his eyes and from the way he moved she would swear he hadn’t grown up poor. From this close, it was impossible to miss that he was far too thin, as she’d guessed from afar. He was living rough and the cagey nervousness all but shimmering in the air around him gave some hint as to why. Alanna was no stranger to people running from their own shadows, though her instincts told her this wasn’t the usual case of petty crime.

“You are the one they call Lioness?”

His deep, mellow voice, slightly scratched from the cold, surprised her. Though the accent was flattened out to imitate any other street Tortallan on the road, the precise nature of the obfuscation hinted at a different accent being hidden.

Alanna met his gaze squarely, ignoring how far up she had to look to do so.

“That I am.” She smiled wryly. “I’m not the easiest person to go incognito.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes – weary but there, and it gave her hope that some of his bleakness could fade in time.

The Goddess’ stone was still burning at her throat.

“I believe that.” His eyes flickered to the blazing jewel, then back to her eyes. He showed no sign of being discomfited in her presence, as so many others did. Rather she thought, she saw _curiosity_ in his gaze, and perhaps a tentative hope. He nodded at the Goddess’ token. “Is it supposed to do that?”

She shrugged. “It’s been known to happen.”

She grasped the stone again, letting it show her what it would. She was surprised to see a gift coiled tightly in his chest and through his veins, sparkling black and thrumming with power. She tried to remember if she’d ever felt a gift like his before, and pushed down old, reflexive grief at the thought Thom.

In her distraction she didn’t notice his fascination at her answer, the way he opened his mouth only to shut it again with a grimace, common sense thwarting academic curiosity.

“Why don’t you use your gift?” Alanna asked bluntly. “With power such as yours you shouldn’t need to starve on the streets.”

Another step brought her close enough to poke him in the ribs, grimly noting his badly-concealed flinch at the motion. “You don’t have enough meat on those lanky bones of yours, laddie.”

He stared at her, a rabbit caught in front of the hunter, then a bitter laugh worked its way out of his throat even as his long legs brought some distance between them. “If it weren’t for my gift I wouldn’t _be_ starving on the streets, as you so charmingly put it.”

Alanna grinned and said, as dry as the desert she loved, “Being charming is my secret hobby.”

He took to her own peculiar brand of humour with aplomb, she noted, then wondered at the thought. She wasn’t usually so quick to like or trust. Between this and the jewel… she only just suppressed a scowl. She didn’t appreciate being nudged into a certain direction, not even by the Goddess.

Wrenching her thoughts away from meddling divine beings, she fixed the young player with a steady gaze, wondering about his story.

She knew people found her intense purple gaze uncomfortable, but he didn’t flinch. “People’s prejudices, an accident, or just too much power for those around you to cope with?”

He snorted. “More the latter, I expect, though I won’t ask how you know of the strength of my gift.”

“I think you could probably easily take me,” she said frankly, “and I’m no slouch.”

His lips quirked. “Except that I haven’t done more than light a candle in over a year. And I’ve always been rubbish at battle spells.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m willing to tell you my story, knowing who you are and that you would find it interesting, but not out here. I don’t need the kind of rumours that come with an even longer chat with the King’s Champion on some rural village’s main square.”

She regarded him for a long moment – so tense, so full of power, so _young_ – but her decision was already made.

“Where are you headed? I’m willing to take you with me to Tirragen and then on to Corus. _As long_ as you swear that you have not done anything that, as a knight of the realm, sworn to uphold justice and the laws of this land, would make me foresworn for aiding you.” Her eyes hardened. “If you swear thus, then I give you my personal word as Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau that I will protect you from whatever or whoever hunts you. If you swear falsely – ” She shrugged. “You won’t live long to regret it.”

There was no hesitation this time, despite the dire threat, when the young man held up one hand, the other on his heart forming the Gods’ circle, and black fire flared at his fingertips. “I, Numair Salmalín, swear that I have not broken a law of this land nor do I intend harm to anyone in this realm, Mithros be my witness.”

A gust of wind swept by, the sound of silver bells ringing in its gust.

“So mote it be,” Alanna murmured. Then she cocked her head, considering. “Numair Salmalín… that’s a mage’s name if I’ve ever heard one.”

Numair’s grin was slightly crooked. “That would be because it’s not my birth name. But that tale can wait, my lady.”

“Call me Alanna. I get enough of that ‘my lady’ nonsense at court. I can’t always avoid the palace.”

He smiled. “It’s Numair then, Alanna.”

She gave him another quick look over, then whistled sharply. “Darkmoon can carry us both, at least the short ride to Tirragen castle.”

Numair glanced at the horse clomping up behind the Lady Knight a little sceptically, but knew better than to argue already. She didn’t mention that for all his height, he didn’t look like he weighted much.

Once they were comfortably plodding along, Darkmoon none the slower for the added burden of one bone-thin man, Alanna decided the time was right. “So, Master Numair, what’s your story?”

She felt his startled twitch at her back even through her leather jerkin.

“How did you – ”

“You all but teem with power, clearly know how to use it _and_ how not to. It’s not much of a stretch to assume you have your mastery already. Besides, your reaction confirmed the guess.”

The rueful silence from behind her only lasted for a moment. “Technically you’re right. I’m a black robe, graduated from the University of Carthak.”

Alanna took care not to let her shock show, but didn’t bother restraining her impressed whistle. “And you’re what, twenty?”

“Eighteen,” he corrected, blush audible in his voice.

She almost reined in Darkmoon in reflex. “Black robe at eighteen and they let you _go_? The Emperor is notorious for his… possessiveness.”

Numair snorted an entirely unamused laugh. “Hence me fleeing to a different country, changing my name and never daring to use my gift for fear his agents will find me and drag me back to Carthak to be executed after all.”

“Executed? What for?”

“Treason,” he said bitterly. “For daring to have a conscience and speaking out against Ozorne. I gather he’s none too pleased with my escape from his dungeons either.”

“I’d think not,” she murmured, mind racing. “I can’t say I expected such a fraught tale when I asked after your story.”

“Neither did I,” he returned dryly, “until I had to live through it.”

Alanna found herself liking him even more.

They rode on in silence, Alanna mulling over everything he’d said and not said, Numair lost in his own memories. The towers of Tirragen castle were already in sight, many lamps lighting the darkness, when Alanna asked, “Are you planning to settle in Tortall? I’m certain King Jonathan would welcome you and extend his protection if you chose to become his vassal.”

“I will admit that I had planned similarly,” Numair answered after a moment’s thought. “But I do not want to end up sworn to another man who will ask me to do his dirty work. I mean no offense, but I don’t know your King, though many tales of Tortall’s strange court have reached as far as Carthak.”

Alanna grinned. “I take no offense, nor will Jon. We always need more people keeping him humble.” She nodded at the couple of King’s Own men standing guard at the castle gates. They waved her through silently. “How about you come to Corus with me and see for yourself? You’ll be welcome at the palace anyway, as my guest, and at the very least there’ll be some hot meals in it for you.”

Numair didn’t appear to need much time to mull over her offer, sounding almost cheerful when he accepted. “When you put it like that, I’d be a fool to refuse.”

-

Numair let himself be towed into the crowded temporary mess hall for the men Alanna had brought with her to Tirragen without a fuss. In truth, he doubted making a fuss would’ve helped any – the Lady Knight towing him along was a whirlwind contained in a small, wiry body and he had no desire to bear the brunt of those whipping winds. It also helped that he genuinely _liked_ Alanna, despite her brusque intractability. She’d treated him very well so far, and without the pity that the others who’d stopped to help him along the way hadn’t even tried to hide.

Before he could do much more than blink at the contained chaos in the hall, Numair found himself eye to eye with a man in the blue colours of the Own who was built like an ox. The fact that he did not have to look down to meet the man’s gaze was something of a novelty for Numair, whose six foot five inches let him tower over nearly everyone.

“And who’s this?” the man asked in a pleasantly soothing voice that was entirely at odds with his hulking appearance. “You know, Jon and Gary were already getting worried that you hadn’t brought a stray home in a while, Alanna.”

Alanna rolled her eyes. “Bring a foreign princess home _one_ time and they never let you forget it.”

“And the Shang Dragon, and various Bazhir and – ”

“Yes, yes, all right I get the point,” Alanna interrupted him before he could really get started. “Numair Salmalín, meet Raoul of Goldenlake. I’ve been friends with that big dolt since we were pages, so never mind his bad manners.”

Throughout all of this Raoul’s eyes had been taking in Numair’s appearance with sharp intelligence, no matter his teasing attitude. This was not a man easily fooled, nor, Numair was certain, as slow as he made himself out to be.

In response to Alanna’s challenge, Raoul exercised a perfect courtly bow. “A pleasure meeting you, Mister Salmalín.”

Numair, amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth, returned the gesture with equal precision. “And you, Lord Raoul.”

Raoul threw a smirk at Alanna. “He’s got better manners than you, firetop.”

Alanna scowled at him, but didn’t argue, probably because she was well aware that it was true.

“You boys sit down somewhere, I’m going to go get food,” she announced, and swept towards the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Raoul watched her go, a fond smile on his lips. Numair only just resisted shuffling his feet, feeling awkward at his intrusion. The moment passed, and then Raoul’s focus was back on Numair, making him wish it’d stayed away for a while longer. Were all of Tortall’s knights so bloody _intense_?

Lord Raoul’s eyes were sharp on him, as he commented, “You bear Alanna’s intensity with more grace than most of us who’ve known her since childhood.”

Numair shrugged. “She’s been perfectly nice to me.” Then he smiled wryly. “And perhaps that is due to my _not_ knowing her for longer than a few days. Besides, my ma raised me to be polite.”

When she could be bothered raising him, he added mentally, but he was surely not going to say _that_ out loud.

He wasn’t certain whether it was just his imagination, but he thought Lord Raoul’s eyes softened a little at his words. He certainly limited his intensity slightly, letting more of the jovial man slip through who had first greeted Numair.

A moment later Alanna returned, bearing three plates heaped full with meat and some sort of vegetable mush with more grace than Numair would’ve expected, and this time Numair was certain of Lord Raoul’s sincerity when his eyes lit up at the sight of food. Some things, he decided, were just universal.

*

Numair, they all found out the next morning, was an _abominable_ rider. Alanna would’ve been amused if he weren’t quite so hopeless and she not so busy feeling sorry for the poor horse – one of the men’s spares – that got saddled with him. On the other hand, his blazing red face when he finally managed to stay in the saddle for long enough to let them move out promised further entertainment on the road.

Guiding Darkmoon next to his mount, she patted his arm consolingly. “You’ll have plenty of time to learn.”

Numair sighed, the red slow to fade from his cheeks. “That’s what I thought when I first started learning, but I’ve just never gotten better.” He grimaced. “I don’t think horses like me very much. Give me a book any day.”

“Are you a scholar then?” Alanna asked curiously, aware that Raoul was listening in from the other side, though the large man kept his peace.

“That’s my calling, yes,” Numair confirmed, wincing slightly as he was jolted around in the saddle. “I don’t actually know much practical magic, I’ve always preferred research. Most of the people in Carthak think I’m a book-bound idiot, actually.”

A smile spread across Alanna’s face, possibilities tumbling through her head. “Between me and Jon we can probably do something about that, if you’re willing to learn.”

“Of course!” he agreed immediately, looking rather adorably offended that she thought he might not be. “It’s occurred to me several times recently that getting my head unstuck from the clouds a bit could come in handy.”

His expression fell, no doubt recalling his days on the streets, but before the darkness in his eyes could become oppressing, Raoul muttered, “Now you’ve done it. She’s not going to give you a moment’s peace now until you’ve learned everything she can possibly cram into your head.”

Alanna tried to look offended, failed miserably, and settled on ignoring Raoul instead.

“Do you have any healing talents?” she asked Numair. “I’m a fairly handy all round mage, but healing is my speciality.”

Numair winced, an expression of regret passing across his striking features. “Sadly, no, I’ve never had any talent in that area. I spent a whole year trying to get myself to heal more than the simplest bruises and cuts, but it just wouldn’t come to me.”

Alanna allowed herself only a moment of disappointment, quickly pushed aside. Numair was watching her with some trepidation, perhaps fearing her reaction to his perceived failing, and that just wouldn’t do.

“That’s probably lucky for you,” she informed him instead. “I’ve been told I’m overly demanding as a teacher.”

Numair’s lips were twitching, but he hung onto his straight face with admirable determination. “I have no idea why they would say such a thing.”

Raoul, the traitor, laughed loudly on Numair’s other side, safe from retaliation.

*

Great Road East  
Tortall  
444 H.E

-

Raoul was a little surprised at Numair seeking him out one evening when Alanna and most of the men were busy with putting up camp. Though they were cordial enough and he liked what he’d learned about the mage so far, they hadn’t interacted much without Alanna acting as an irascible buffer.

“May I sit?” Numair asked, hovering near the campfire Raoul had chosen to spend the night next to.

Raoul smiled at him, trying to put the man at ease. He didn’t know why Numair was nervous around him, though he had a good idea that it stemmed from his recent past on the run. “Of course.”

He patted a patch of moss invitingly and watched with some amusement as the lanky mage folded himself onto the ground. The lad was starting to put on some weight already, or Raoul would surely have heard his bones rattling.

“What’s on your mind?” Raoul asked, somewhat bluntly perhaps but Numair looked like he needed a little nudge to get him going.

Numair shifted uneasily next to him, but his voice was steady enough when he answered, “Corus. Court. The King.”

“I take it Alanna hasn’t been very helpful?”

“She hasn’t not been helpful,” Numair muttered furtively, as if the Lady Knight in question might jump out from behind a bush any second, “but she’s convinced that everything will be just fine and there’re no potential problems whatsoever.”

Raoul sighed. That sounded like Alanna.

“She isn’t entirely wrong, Numair,” he said gently. “From what I gather our court is _quite_ different from Carthak’s.”

“She thinks the King is just going to take to me like she did,” Numair protested, sounding glum. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Raoul studied the man next to him thoughtfully. “What do you know about Jon?”

“Not much really, just what you two have said.” Numair’s hands twitched in his lap anxiously. “That you think he’s a fair King, that he wouldn’t force me to do vile things like Ozorne did… that you call him by his name instead of his title.”

Raoul leaned back against his pack, fishing a bit of dried jerky out of his pocket to munch on. “That is all true, but what you really need to know is that, despite being King, Jon is a _good_ man. Oh, he can be an ass sometimes and he’s all tangled up in duty all the time, but once you get past that he’s a good and decent man in addition to being really good at what he does.” He grinned. “And of course he’s got the Queen, Thayet, to yell at him whenever he’s about to make a bad decision, and there’re scores of us who’d line up to bash him over the head until he gets over himself.”

Numair was staring at him, wide-eyed. “You’d _hit_ your _King_?”

Raoul shrugged. “Only when he deserves it. That’s what friends are for, after all, and I’ve been practising at beating his head in on the training courts since we were both pages.”

“But…” Numair was clearly struggling with this concept. “What about his reputation? Kings can’t just let themselves be _hit_. People would be lining the streets to get one in themselves.”

“Oh, Jon’s pretty well liked by the masses,” Raoul said flippantly, then decided to take pity on the mage. “We don’t do it in public, lad. We don’t want to humiliate him, just pound some sense into his head.”

Numair thought that over, then said quietly, “I didn’t think Kings had friends, not like that. Ozorne has lackeys, maybe, and people he likes ordering about more than others.”

Raoul popped the last bit of jerky into his mouth, chewing slowly. “I suppose that explains the difference between our kingdoms.”

Some of the worry had left Numair’s features, though Raoul doubted all of it would disappear before the lad had actually met Jon.

“You’ll do well here, Numair Salmalín, and there are plenty people from foreign lands at court. I’ll introduce you to our Horsemistress some time. She’s a K’miri, like the Queen.” He levered himself to his feet. “Now, let’s go find Alanna before she terrorises my men into building fortifications for the night camp.”

-

“Light that pile of wood.”

Numair jumped from his light doze at Alanna’s command, back popping as he straightened.

“What?”

Alanna sighed. “You can make fire, can’t you?”

“Of course. It’s the first thing every mage learns.”

She pointed at the small pile of logs by his feet. “Then light a fire.”

He frowned at her, but obediently lifted a finger and –

Did nothing. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, mind caught between _don’t use your gift they’ll find you_ and _you’re perfectly safe, Alanna is right there, do something you idiot_.

Slowly he drew the trembling finger back, cradling it to his chest. Somewhere inside a scream was building.

When he looked up, Alanna was looking at him with something suspiciously close to sympathy shining in her purple eyes.

“Try again,” she instructed quietly, tone gentled like the hand she now rested on his shaking shoulder. “If Ozorne wants you back, he’ll have to go through me.” Then, as if as an afterthought, she added, “And probably everyone else at court once you’ve charmed Jon like you’ve charmed the rest of us.”

If he was going to be of any use to his friends he’d need to use his magic. He’d need to be able to control his power.  The slow feeling of a light igniting behind his breastbone informed him that for these people, he would even _want_ to.

The wood burst into flame, a darting flame as tall as the Knight standing beside him. Startled shouts rang through the clearing, but a quick glare by the Lioness silenced any imminent protests.

Alanna eyed the roaring fire, then said, “Right, so any danger would’ve been crisped good, I’ll give you that.” A motion of her hand extinguished the fire again, a wave of water breaking over it. “Now do it again with some restraint, please.”

Feeling in equal measure sheepish and ashamed of his lack of control, but also strangely reassured, Numair did as he was bid. This time a neat little fire erupted from the wood and Alanna gave him a satisfied nod.

For two hours she paced him through numerous fairly simple spells, asking for more and more difficult things as the night grew darker. Numair performed everything to her satisfaction, as his mind slowly remembered the joy that came with using his gift.

Only healing, as ever, remained beyond him.

When Alanna finally declared that he ‘would do’, most of the camp had already gone to sleep, having tired of watching the lightshow the two mages were producing.

Leaning back against a tree, she pointed a threatening finger at him. “Remember when reaching for your gift was as instinctive as ducking when someone throws something at your head? You need to get back to that, or the next jumped-up mage who wants to bag themselves a blackrobe is going to light your ass on fire.”

Amused despite himself, Numair neglected to tell her that he didn’t, in fact, have much experience with people throwing things at him. “A year ago I would’ve said that mages don’t do that kind of thing,” he murmured instead, eyeing her finger with some weariness in case she decided to poke him again.

Alanna’s smile was all teeth. “Precious lad you were, hmmm?”

“I believed the phrase most often used was ‘head in the clouds’,” Numair replied dryly.

The corners of Alanna’s mouth gentled. “I’ll believe that, laddie. Just don’t forget to keep your feet on the ground or you’ll be floating among the stars before you know it.”

She clapped him on the back and rose to find her own sleeping roll, leaving Numair to contemplate her words. He fell asleep to the thought that floating among the stars really didn’t sound too bad.

*

When he woke, the only thing he remembered for long moments was that he had fallen off his horse. Dull pain throbbed through numerous limbs, the feeling of freshly healed bones and bruises. Instinctively searching for comfort, he looked into his core – only to stop short at the yawning emptiness he found. Dizzy confusion reigned in his mind, and his gift was barely a trickle of light in his chest, and it took him another ten minutes to start remembering flashes of the fight. _The_ _fight_. He remembered the hillmen bursting out of the bushes, a ragged desperate bunch or they would never have attacked a half company of the King’s Own. He remembered being separated from most of the warriors with Alanna who’d ridden in the back with him. He remembered using his gift, fuelled by his desperation, and though he knew little war magic, creative use of more everyday spells could be equally devastating.

He’d used too much, drained himself. And _then_ fallen off his horse. A little part of him was proud that he’d managed to stay on that long in the middle of attacking hordes.

Numair opened his eyes and saw a violet world. Warm, blazing purple cradled his body, soothing hurts and weariness. For the first time since Carthak he felt truly _safe_. Which was patently ridiculous because he also felt like a horse had trampled over him or perhaps the ground had taken particular exception to him.

The purple shroud receded a little to admit Alanna’s face into his view, eyes blazing amid startling paleness.

“Numair Salmalín! Do not _ever_ do that again, do you hear me?”

“I suppose asking ‘do what’ would be disingenuous in this case?” he croaked past chapped lips.

Relief didn’t make her eyes blaze any less, but Alanna did hold a cup of blessedly cool water to his lips.

“Extremely,” she informed him tartly, but the cup didn’t waver, feeding him water in steady, small sips.

As soon as he was done drinking, she rose abruptly. “I’m going to get you some herbal tea, it’ll help. And _you_ ” – fierce eyes pinned him as effectively as spikes – “need to stay still and rest. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly. There was really nothing else to do.

 

A moment after her exit, Raoul poked his head through the tent flap, grinning with genuine pleasure to see him awake. “I think we need to give her a few minutes to calm down. You scared her, lad.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Numair seemed as small as his voice, hunched over in his bedroll, a quiet kind of misery reflected in his expression.

“Don’t worry yourself too much about it. Alanna’s temper is easily riled but she always cools down eventually.” Seeing the misery persist, he added gently, “She isn’t really angry at you, Numair. Knowing her she’s probably beating herself six ways to midwinter for not protecting you better.”

That startled the other man. “It’s hardly her fault! Without her I would’ve been dead for sure!”

Raoul smiled. “And without _you_ she might’ve been tagged too. Don’t think we aren’t all grateful to you.”

It was somewhat endearing to see a blush spread over the young mage’s cheeks.

“The hillmen?”

Raoul kept a straight face at the obvious change of topic, but only just.

“Some dead, most captured. Once they realised how outmatched they were most of them threw down their weapons. Most of the company is escorting them to the nearest town, for the magistrates to deal with. Thank Mithros we do this kind of thing often enough they don’t need me to babysit them for that.”

Numair choked on a laugh, then started coughing and Raoul hastily squeezed his big frame entirely into the tent to hand him a cup of water.

“Thank you,” Numair said once he could breathe properly again, though he still sounded hoarse. The other man looked down at the empty cup in his hand, then the blanket covering him up to his waist and sighed. “I hope we’re not in a hurry because I don’t think I’m going to go anywhere fast given my current state.”

“It would be a potent combination with your riding skills,” Raoul agreed solemnly and was heartened by the glare Numair threw at him.

He settled himself down next to the prone mage, arranging his own long legs so they wouldn’t poke the invalid in uncomfortable places. Alanna had asked him to keep an eye on Numair, so keep an eye on Numair he would. Not that she’d said anything out loud, but she hadn’t needed to say much out loud for him to understand her for decades now.

“Have I told you about the time Jon composed really bad poetry about a court beauty?”

Numair looked interested but also slightly suspicious – admittedly Raoul wasn’t very subtle with these stories – but before he could answer, a shout from outside the tent made them both jump.

“While you’re telling stories, did I tell you about the time all the loobies I call friends made fools of themselves over the same woman who ended up committing high treason?”

Raoul winced. Alanna had not been happy with them in her squire years. On the other hand, the embarrassing recollections were worth finally hearing Numair laugh in deep and joyful abandon. Even if the mage bent over with a hacking cough a moment later, having forgotten his strained and aching body – it was the thought that counted.

*

Numair learnt a great deal on the slow way to Corus, chief among them that Alanna had a temper (that many of the songs conveniently forgot) and could be as prickly as any bur, especially in the mornings. Raoul on the other hand was so easy-going that he had you completely fooled until he started swinging around the enormous war hammer that he’d taken along as ‘insurance’.

He suspected that they’d become his friends entirely without his input when he wasn’t looking. He took pains to think of Lindhall often, but these days the faces of Raoul and Alanna oftentimes appeared alongside his university friend’s – teasing, laughing and, on one memorable occasion, throwing bits of dried jerky at each other’s heads. Despite their occasional immaturity that he couldn’t help but enjoy, Numair found himself thinking that if two knights such as these were only some of those who’d sworn King Jonathan of Conté loyalty, there was hope that he might be safe at his court, even from Ozorne.

Regardless, he found that he slept easier these days, knowing that he wouldn’t be as alone for the rest of his life as he’d quietly feared, strange country and immature knights and all.


End file.
